Poor gullet

I’m sitting in a chair wearing black underwear
Uniform and the rest hang with the vest
No small feat to suck at such a teat
And the cat forever dry named after Fry
Possessing credibility such as responsibility
The woman of law faced down her garden maw
But stay awhile and harken to the larks softly darken
A song at last best played in the past

Leaves beyond the house starts getting douse
Mince the hen without the mouse den
Look past the fedora and spot what belongs to Pandora
Boxed and sliced as sure as heisted
We stumble inside to fetch in infinite stretch
Warning signs in red screaming of wandering undead
Undead, undead, we walk the night in fright
Undead, undead, the poem ends in vain